Harry Potter and the Life Relived
by Miss Stone
Summary: An odd timeturner meant just for him. A theory about the black veil. An inconceivable chance. Harry gets another shot, but this time he's not going to make the same mistakes. AU as of DH, darn it.
1. The Last of Them

Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling is the proud owner of the Harry Potter world. I am merely borrowing her creativity for my own entertainment.

A/N: Yes, I know, I shouldn't be starting yet another story when I already have others sitting on standby. It can't be helped – inspiration strikes and the stories must be begun.

Harry Potter and the Life Relived

Chapter One: The Last of Them

The night guard of Little Hangleton was a young lad, fresh from Academy, and just back from his honeymoon. He had been assigned the task of watching over the town after dark because he was "the best man for the job." Strolling through the foggy, cobblestone streets at two in the morning, he knew he was working the graveyard shift not because he was "the best," but because he was the _only_ man for the job. A lot of odd things had been happening in the town, things that couldn't quite be described, yet were the topic of whispered gossip in the safety of sunlight. The moment the sun touched the western horizon, the townspeople closed their shops and scuttled home, locking windows and doors, for no one dared the risk of being caught outside after dark.

Richard Lawrence knew that the moment he had left for his honeymoon, his colleagues had voted for him to be night guard while he was miles away and unable to politely decline the "promotion." A few years back, while he was still in Academy, the body of an old gardener had been found on the Riddle property. There had been no obvious cause of death, and the mortician had been mildly baffled, but ultimately decided it was simply the man's time to go. The mysterious nature of the man's death had sparked a roaring fire of gossip as the elderly folks of the town remembered the Riddle tragedy. Rumors flew left and right, the most recent being that the old Riddle house was haunted by a particularly nasty spirit.

"Codswallop," Richard muttered under his breath. As far as he was concerned, the mortician was right. Frank Bryce had been a cranky, old war veteran with a stiff leg and goodness knows what other kind of "old man affliction." It didn't take a nasty spirit for him to kick the bucket. Richard looked over in the direction of the Riddle house, but the fog was too thick to see anything. Kicking angrily at a stone, he wished he was indoors, lying next to his new wife, rather than pacing through a superstitious town. Remembering the days he and his pals used to sneak into the mansion on dares, he began wandering toward the hill on the outskirts of the village.

The path to the Riddle mansion curved around a cemetery and up a hill overlooking Little Hangleton. As Richard was slowly meandering around the curve, he heard a soft, indistinguishable sound and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He froze in place and cocked his head, straining to hear, but all was quiet. A shiver ran up his spine and he pulled his jacket tighter around him, muttering under his breath about "stupid ghost stories." Try as he might to convince himself that nothing was amiss, Richard couldn't help but notice that his heartbeat was reverberating throughout his entire body and his breath was a touch shaky.

As he crept toward the wrought iron archway leading into the ancient cemetery, he surreptitiously felt for the comforting presence of his radio, baton and flashlight. Reassuring himself that all was present and accounted for on his belt, Richard paused at the entryway and peered in, searching for the source of his unease. As much as he chose to ignore or scoff at the rumors surrounding the Riddle mansion, he could not deny the fact that the Little Hangleton cemetery had its own mystery. Less than a year after old Frank Bryce was found dead, an event of some significance had taken place among the graves, for one morning the place was found in shambles. Scorch marks decorated the ground like a strange oriental rug, and tombstones were cracked or shattered. A trail of blood could be found splattered throughout the trampled grass and little Bonnie Clyde had sworn to her mother she had seen a spectacular light show from her bedroom window that evening. The mysterious death of an old gardener seemed to pale in comparison to the fact that something strange and violent had occurred just outside of Little Hangleton.

The cemetery had since been cleaned and many of the tombstones had been repaired or replaced, but there were still reminders of the odd occurrence. Richard's eyes flicked over to the angel statue missing half of a wing. He remembered how it had appeared that the missing chunk of the wing had been blasted across the cemetery. Another chill ran up his spine and his breath caught in his throat as he sensed, more than saw, a presence just past the angel. Taking a hesitant step forward and squinting through the fog, Richard could just make out the outline of a person kneeling on the ground.

He crept forward as silently as possible and paused behind a rather large headstone when he began to make out a quiet muttering. The figure appeared to be a man, and as Richard peeked over the headstone, he saw the man empty a container of ashes into a shallow hole.

"…finally over," the dark figure murmured as he reached for a small box at his side. "You killed my parents. You killed my aunt. You killed Cedric, and you killed my friends."

Richard felt a cold chill at the man's words. It appeared the ashes had belonged to some sort of serial killer. But why would the man be burying him here? Did he kill him? A thousand questions ran through his mind, but he put them on hold as he watched the figure begin to pull odd things from the box. The first item was a tattered book that seemed to have a hole marring the center. The man tossed it carelessly among the ashes.

"The diary," he said, "that almost killed Ginny." Next he pulled out a ring and tossed it in the hole, "The ring that wounded Dumbledore." The man rummaged in the box and held something tight in his fist. His shoulders began to shake and he choked out, "The necklace…" The man sniffled and threw the necklace forcefully into the hole. "The necklace," he growled, "that killed Dumbledore _needlessly_!"

Richard's brow furrowed in confusion. What in the world was going on? How could these simple objects cause deaths? He watched, fascinated as the man pulled out another necklace and held it up as it spun around, tangling itself.

"The _real_ necklace," he whispered as he dropped it in the hole. The man paused for a moment, then took a deep shuddering breath and reached into the box again. He pulled out a small cup with two handles. Richard could see that there was a design on the front, but it was too dark to make it out.

"Hufflepuff's cup," the shadowy figure whispered, "So many have died over this cup…ironic, isn't it?" The man spoke almost wistfully, "The Lady Hufflepuff favored the loyal and hard-working. Had she known what this cup would be used for, she would've destroyed it herself." He gently set the cup down among the other odd objects before reaching into the box again.

The next item he pulled out was an old-fashioned hand mirror. The back had ornate designs, most of which were too difficult to see in the dark, although a large bird seemed to be the focus point. When the man slowly turned it over, Richard dared to lean a bit further forward to see if he could catch a glimpse of his reflection. A crack ran lengthwise down the mirror, distorting the mysterious man's face. However, Richard could make out enough to tell that the man was far younger than he had anticipated. In fact, he looked to be in his late teens – still a boy. There was a nasty scar on his right cheek and another on his forehead. What he could see of the boy's eyes told Richard a story of lifelong pain.

The boy stared at his own reflection for a moment longer, watching as a tear slowly trailed down his cheek and dripped off his nose. He turned the mirror over one more time and begin tracing the outline of the bird with his fingers.

"Ravenclaw's mirror," he murmured. A sob escaped him as he relived some horrible memory. The boy started rocking back and forth on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the mirror with a white-knuckled grip. Richard's conscience warred within him, debating whether or not to make his presence known. Just as he was about to stand up and step forward, the boy roared in fury.

"YOU TOOK THEM!" he shouted at the hole in the ground. Richard's eyes grew wide and he huddled a little further down behind the gravestone. "You took them!" he sobbed, more emotional. The boy held the mirror out over the hole, and Richard could see that his hand was shaking violently. "Luna and Hermione," he choked as he dropped it with a clatter into the rapidly filling hole.

A long moment passed with the boy sobbing and cursing the remains of whoever he was burying, while Richard began to feel a dull ache in his knees from squatting for so long. The boy sniffled and rubbed his arm under his nose before reaching into the box one last time. What he pulled out caused Richard to clap his hands over his mouth to stop himself from gagging. It appeared to be the head of an enormous snake, it's eyes wide open and it's fangs bared in an angry hiss. He didn't look too closely, but he was able to tell from a quick glance that the decapitation had not been a clean cut.

"Nagini," the boy said, holding the snake up and staring it in it's lifeless eyes. "Ron and Neville stood with me to the end…until you. There wasn't enough time to save them. One, maybe, but not both." The boy's shoulders suddenly straightened and his back stiffened as he gripped the head tighter and continued to stare at it. A furious hissing and spitting sound came forth and for one wild moment, Richard thought the snake had come alive until he realized it was the boy making the sounds. His entire body broke out in gooseflesh at the morbidly fascinating display before him.

"The last of them," the boy said firmly as he threw the snake head into the hole. He stood suddenly and began kicking dirt over the odd grave. When he finished stomping the dirt in place, he reached deep in some hidden pocket and extracted a small stone. He placed the stone over the makeshift grave and stood back. "Buried next to your Muggle father, Tom. How does _that_ make you feel?" he asked bitterly. The boy spat on the grave before him, then turned on the spot and vanished with a soft pop.

Richard's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in disbelief. He stood slowly, relieving the tension in his knees, and hobbled over to the new grave. Pulling out his flashlight, he shined it first on the large gravestone that supposedly was the deceased's father and read "Tom Riddle." Richard frowned. Everyone from Little Hangleton had heard the stories about the Riddle deaths, but not one rumor mentioned the younger Riddle having a child. The mystery surrounding this graveyard seemed to get more and more mysterious, Richard thought to himself as he swung the beam of light down to the small stone recently placed on the ground. The stone seemed to be an ordinary gray rock one could find on any dirt path, but inscribed on it were three initials: "T.M.R."


	2. The Phoenix Crest

Disclaimer: I really, _really_ wish it was mine, but it's not.

Chapter Two: The Phoenix Crest

Harry Potter was sitting on an old armchair in a room covered in leather-bound books. Hunched forward, face in hands, he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. Memories flitted through his head randomly, barely pausing long enough for him to grasp. Faces, friends, laughter…death. And laying thick and heavy over it all was a dark blanket of nothingness. A quiet hoot brought him out of his melancholy, and he blinked and looked wearily at the snowy white owl perched on the back of a rickety chair just a few feet away. He sighed. "It's just us, now, Hedwig." The owl cooed softly and spread her great wings to flutter over to his lap. As Harry gently stroked her head, he forced his thoughts forward instead of back. "What do I do now?" he whispered.

A couple of hours later found Harry curled up on the threadbare couch under a scratchy blanket, moaning in his sleep. Hedwig was perched on the chair back, once again, watching her familiar with large, amber eyes. She tilted her head as Harry gasped and clutched the blanket in his fist, shaking as tears slid from beneath his clenched eyelids. Swiveling her head around, she hooted at the open door to the kitchen. An answering chirp floated forward, calm and reassuring, as a large red and gold bird soared into the room. Fawkes, the phoenix, quietly trilled out a song until Harry's form slowly relaxed.

Suddenly Harry's eyes snapped open and he sat up so quickly his head hurt. "Sirius!" he cried. "Of course…he was the only one who…all the others…poison, cursed…but no body…no one _really_ knows _how_ it works…" Harry blinked owlishly at the blurry forms of Hedwig and Fawkes, both of their heads tilted to the side in curiosity. Fumbling on the scratched wooden side table for his glasses, Harry began to mutter under his breath again, "I suppose it's worth a try. If it fails…then that's it." Glasses finally perched on his nose, Harry nodded with finality. "That's it," he whispered.

Hair sticking up in all directions, Harry stumbled off the couch and began making his way through the small house. After slipping on his shoes and pulling a traveling cloak over his shoulders, he stood in the center of the room, one hand absentmindedly flattening his hair as he stared blankly at a wall, lost in thought. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision and whirled around to open a hidden passage behind one of the many bookcases in the room. He clambered up a narrow wooden staircase and hesitated outside a closed door.

Slowly and gently he turned the doorknob and pushed the creaking door open. Pausing on the threshold of the bedroom, he peered in at the dusty furniture, taking note of the unmade bed and black robes hanging in the open closet. Feeling horribly like an intruder, Harry plucked up his courage and strode swiftly to the desk in the far corner. After pushing a number of books aside, he shuffled through numerous piles of parchment until he found the three sheets he was looking for. Glancing over it again, he nodded to himself and rolled them up into a tight scroll which he placed in an inner pocket of his traveling cloak. Harry paused to glance around the stifling room one more time, but the air felt so heavy and oppressive, he quickly left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Fawkes and Hedwig were still perched in the sitting room when Harry strode through. Once he was satisfied he had everything, namely his wand and the scroll, he addressed the birds. "There's something I need to do," he said, "and I'm not sure if I'll be returning." Hedwig squawked and ruffled her feathers while Fawkes looked at him piercingly. Guilt began to creep in, but Harry suppressed it. He'd been feeling too much of that lately. "You two have been great," he said, stroking their feathers. "Thank you." Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately as Fawkes butted his head and chirped.

Harry grabbed a blank piece of parchment and scrawled a quick note.

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_Thank you for everything you have done for me. Please take care of Hedwig and Fawkes while I'm gone. I'm off to start the next great adventure._

_Sincerely,_

Harry James Potter 

Harry rolled up the parchment and fastened it to Hedwig's leg. He kissed the top of her head and said, "I want you both to go to Professor McGonagall. Take care of her for me."

With a hoot and a trill, both birds reluctantly rose in the air and glided out the window. Harry walked outside and watched until he could no longer see them and a heaviness settled on his already weary heart. With one last glance at the shabby house on Spinner's End, Harry disapparated with a quiet pop.

After apparating into the Ministry, it took Harry a moment to get oriented. Once he was satisfied his body was intact and he hadn't splinched himself, he made his way through the deserted building and onto the lift. He pressed the number nine button and waited patiently as he descended into the bowels of the Ministry. When it ground to a halt, a cool female voice stated, "Department of Mysteries," and the golden grilles opened to a long, dark corridor with a plain black door set at the end. Harry stepped out and casually strolled down the bare hallway, passing a flight of stairs that led down to the dungeons and the courtroom where he had once been interrogated by the Wizengamot. He continued on down to the door and opened it without hesitation.

Harry walked into the frustrating circular room of doors that was lit by blue torches. Rather than close the door behind him and allow the room to spin and cause disorientation, he left it open and hoped that would keep the room still. As he walked across the dark room, his footsteps echoed all around him and his reflection shimmered on the floor along with the torches, making it look for all the world as if he were walking on water.

When he reached the far side of the chamber, he opened the first door he came to and walked into a familiar glittering room. The ticking of many unsynchronized clocks washed over him, and this time around he took a moment to peruse the shelves, glancing half-heartedly at the different clocks and books scattered throughout the room. On one wall there was a case that contained a number of time-turners. Each looked the same as the next and all looked like the one Hermione had used so many years ago. All, that is, except for one that caught his eye.

Harry opened the glass case and carefully reached for the odd time-turner. A normal time-turner, if such a thing could be called normal, is a small, plain hourglass filled with sparkling sand. The object that caught Harry's eye was a small hourglass, but that was where the resemblance stopped. The time-turner was empty of sand and it had a strange crest that caused Harry to pause in surprise – a phoenix holding a snake in its beak and a lightning bolt in its talons. When he gingerly lifted it off the shelf, the time-turner magically filled itself with tiny emerald crystals that sparkled and shone, reflecting green light on his wrist.

Harry had no doubt in his mind that this time-turner was meant for him, but he was unsure of what he was supposed to do with it. How far back was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to accomplish? He swallowed nervously as he studied the little hourglass before tentatively turning it over once to see what would happen. Harry looked around as nothing out of the ordinary appeared to have occurred. He glanced at the clocks, but they still said ten minutes after three. It hadn't worked.

Letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, Harry was not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Regardless of how he felt, there was no point in worrying about it now. It obviously didn't work, so he slipped the silver chain around his neck and stepped through a side door. The next room he entered contained a tank that Harry knew to be filled with brains. It had disturbed him a couple of years ago when the brains had latched themselves to Ron, so he hurried through the room, keeping his distance from them. There was a door on either side of the tank, so Harry chose the door on the right.

Entering the new room, Harry began to feel increasingly nervous. This was it. Was he sure he wanted to do this? _Yes,_ he told himself, _I'm sure. This is my last chance to maybe save someone. And if I die, then I die and I get to see everyone again._ Just like last time, as he descended to the center of the amphitheater, Harry was entranced, unable to remove his eyes from the dais. The tattered black veil hanging from the crumbling archway was still fluttering gently. As he approached, he withdrew the scroll from his robes and gently set it on the first step of the dais. He hoped someone would find it soon and make use of the valuable information in it, finishing the equations and figuring out the last ingredients. Leaving this near break-through was to be his last good deed to the wizarding world.

Harry climbed the steps of the dais and stood, curiously, before the veil. Faint, indiscernible whispers reached his ears and he could almost, _almost_, recognize Sirius' voice among them. The dark curtain swayed gently, but seemed to be rippling a little more than before. As Harry gazed at it, he could feel a tension in the air that felt like some sort of barely suppressed power straining to break free. The room seemed to be crackling with energy and the veil quivered more violently. He took a step closer and suddenly the veil whipped back as if blowing in a gale. A thick, cool wind blew from the arch, and Harry's cloak flapped behind him. His hair, blown back off his forehead, revealed the infamous lightning bolt scar, and when he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, Harry Potter looked every inch the hero he was.

Clenching his wand, Harry took a deep breath and marched forward. When he crossed under the arch, the green crystals in his time-turner began to trickle down, corrupting time, twisting fate, and rewriting all that was written. When the last corner of Harry's cloak passed through the veil, the wind died down and the veil fluttered back in place, swaying innocently, the only motion in an empty room.


	3. A Memorable Birthday

Disclaimer: Perhaps Potter, a partisan of parity and persistent persecutor of pernicious peccant people, is perchance possessed in part by my person despite my perpetual persona as a powerless spectator in the presence of popularity Jo provides with polished poise. However, in regards to persnickety protocol, and to prevent a pass in the poky, it would be prudent of me to decline ownership of Potter and his posse.

Say _that_ three times fast!

A/N: Thanks so much to all who have reviewed! I'm having fun with this. And no, I haven't forgotten about Ginny. Well, honestly, yes I did (blasphemy!) but I intend to rectify that later! Eek! Don't hurt me!

Chapter Three: A Memorable Birthday

The first thought that went through Harry's mind after stepping through the veil was that it was very dark and somewhat stuffy. He supposed the darkness could be expected, or at the very least, unsurprising. The stuffiness was curious, but the thought was soon pushed to the side by the realization that he was now lying down on something rather lumpy. Harry furrowed his brow in confusion and then promptly wondered if he should even _have_ a brow to furrow.

_Is this death?_ he thought, somewhat confused. Although he could never have been sure what to expect after passing into the afterlife, somehow this didn't quite seem right. Perhaps this was the point of decision where he could choose to become a ghost and haunt a place of his choosing, or move on to the afterlife and reunite with his friends and family._Well, if that's the case, I choose to move on and see everyone again,_ he thought, resolutely. After waiting intently for several minutes, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he was not dead, after all, and began concentrating on his second theory.

Since little is known about the veil, mainly that those who walk through it do not walk out, Harry had considered and prepared himself for another option – that it is the gateway to another place. Not wanting to believe that Sirius had died by falling through a piece of fabric, he considered that his godfather may simply have been displaced. Ruling out the possibility of the displacement being somewhere on Earth on the basis that not even loss of magic would keep the escaped convict from his godson, Harry theorized that the veil led to some other world or realm from which a wizard could not easily escape. If that was, indeed, the case, then he was prepared to hunt down Sirius and try to figure out where to go from there.

With that thought firmly in mind, Harry began to sit up only to freeze in place at a soft, muffled thud. Shifting uncomfortably, he strained his ears, recognizing the sound of quietly approaching footsteps. A vague familiarity washed over him, too murky to pinpoint, as he felt for his wand. It wasn't there. Harry's heart stopped before he began frantically patting himself down, reaching the point of full blown panic when he realized he was not even wearing the robes he had been when he entered the Department of Mysteries. Though it was still too dark to see anything, and his pulse was pounding in his ears, Harry was aware when the footsteps stopped nearby and he forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to calm down.

A sharp rap came to his left followed by an unmistakable shrill voice that caused Harry's insides to knot up in consternation, "Up! Get up! Now!" _Sweet Merlin, _he thought, _I'm in Hell!_ For there could be no other explanation in his mind. He had seen his Aunt Petunia die. He had held her in his arms as the light left her eyes, forever loathing him and all things magic. Images flashed through his mind, memories of Voldemort torturing his aunt under the Cruciatus curse while Harry fought his way through a swarm of Death Eaters. His uncle and cousin had been huddled against the wall in the sitting room, terrified, but unwilling to leave her. He had ducked and swirled, flinging hexes and curses at everything that moved to get to his aunt, whose shrill shrieks had pierced through the cacophony of battle, followed closely by the cackling of her tormenter. Ron and Hermione had been valiantly defending Vernon and Dudley when Harry pushed through the last of the Death Eaters only to reach Petunia just as a rushing sound and flash of green light struck her writhing body. Before he could even blink, Voldemort and his Death Eaters apparated away with loud pops, leaving the dead body of Petunia Dursley, twisted and contorted, on her once perfect sitting room floor, surrounded by destroyed furniture, scorched walls and broken glass.

"Are you up yet?" that same voice snapped in irritation.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, gaping through the darkness like a fish, before finally stuttering, "Y-yes…"

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Dudley's birthday? Harry was completely bewildered. _What had happened?_ He felt around on the left wall for a latch before slowly pushing the door to the cupboard under the stairs open. Assaulted by the light, Harry scrunched his eyes shut, muttering, "Right, glasses," as he began fumbling behind him. Resting the glasses on his nose, he slowly squinted his eyes open and climbed out of the cupboard, half-heartedly wondering how he had fit in there in the first place. Eyes now wide open, he took in the sight of the impeccable sitting room filled to the brim with photographs of a young Dudley. He was staring at the floor near the electric fireplace where he had seen his Aunt killed when Petunia curiously peered into the hallway, wondering what was taking Harry so long.

"What are you up to?" she snapped, suspiciously. Harry started violently and whirled around, pale and wide-eyed. "You aren't sick,  
are you? Never mind the bacon, if you're sick I'll not have you anywhere near us!"

"I- I'm not sick," he finally said. "Just…" he shook his head and looked back at her with a small smile, "Bad dream, that's all." Aunt Petunia continued to look at Harry suspiciously as he sidled past her into the kitchen and made his way to the stove. She stared at him for one last moment before heading up the stairs to wake Dudley.

As soon as she was gone, Harry clutched the counted with both hands and began breathing heavily. He was tiny again, his Aunt was alive and he had woken up in his old cupboard. _What in the name of Merlin was going on? _It appeared as if he had somehow come back in time, but surely that couldn't be? Thoughts and emotions whirled through Harry's mind leaving a confusing mess, but at the sound of movement upstairs, he finally turned to the now-finished bacon and decided to just 'go with the flow' for the time being. One of the many lessons he had learned from spending an unfortunately extensive amount of time among Slytherins was to play along until one knew what was going on. _What I wouldn't give for Hermione right now, _Harry thought morosely, _she would know what to do._

A great galumphing on the stairs announced the presence of one Dudley Dursley, a boy much larger than Harry, but much smaller than he remembered. _Ah well, give it some time. _Harry chuckled to himself at the memory of an older Dudley, swollen like a baby whale, as he brought the bacon and some fried eggs to the table.

"What are you laughing at, boy?" his Uncle Vernon glared suspiciously over the top of his newspaper.

Harry smiled vaguely at him as he squeezed the food onto the present-laden table. "Nothing," he replied innocently. Vernon's eyes narrowed accusingly, but any remark he was about to make was cut off by the beginnings of an impressive tantrum from Dudley who had just discovered he had received fewer presents than the previous year. While this was nearly an annual occurrence, the familiar placating words Petunia spoke to her greedy son caused Harry to suspect he knew when he was. A telephone call from Mrs. Figg explaining that she had broken her leg and could not watch over Harry confirmed his suspicion. It was Dudley's eleventh birthday, which meant it was the summer he would be receiving his first Hogwarts letter. _Assuming this isn't some elaborate setup and I've really come back in time somehow. _His mind flickered to the old time-turner he had found just before walking through the veil. However, he was unable to dwell on it as he was swept up in the activity of the morning.

Before long, he found himself scrunched in the backseat of Vernon's shiny new car with Dudley and his friend and fellow bully, Piers Polkiss. Harry had been unprepared to see Piers when he walked in the Dursley's front door. A scrawny boy with a rat-like face, he vividly reminded Harry of Peter Pettigrew, a man worthy of as much hate as Voldemort as far as he was concerned. Thankfully none of the Dursley's noticed the fierce scowl on Harry's face when he spotted Piers, but the other boy did and narrowed his eyes threateningly, not daring to say anything in front of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.

When they finally arrived at the zoo, Vernon sent a glare at Harry, reminding him that any "funny business" would result in him being locked in his cupboard until Christmas, before setting off. As they wandered through the zoo, looking at exotic animals, Harry trailed as far behind the others as he was able, contemplating his predicament. He had moved from the question of "How did I get here?" dismissing it as something he probably wouldn't understand, but most likely have something to do with the mysterious time-turner and the damnable veil, to other questions, such as "What do I do now?" and "What do I change?" There were certainly events that would be handled differently now that he appeared to have a second chance. He cautiously realized, though, that straying too far from events of his past would result in complete changes, meaning he would lose his advantage. The real question was what he should allow to remain the same?

Deep in thought, Harry was oblivious to his surroundings until he bumped into Aunt Petunia's back. She whirled around and hissed at him to watch where he was going. After a hasty apology, Harry looked around and noticed they were in the reptile room, and sure enough, to his left was a glass case containing a large boa constrictor, just as he remembered. Dudley and Piers peeled their noses from the glass with disappointed sighs and moved on to look at a couple of pythons.

Harry walked up to the glass and, after glancing around to make sure no one would overhear, hissed, _"Hello."_ The boa raised its head and looked at Harry piercingly before winking in greeting.

_"Sorry about them,"_ Harry said, nodding his head over his shoulder at the other two boys. The snake merely shook its head and raised its eyes to the ceiling as if to say that it happens all the time.

Before Harry could say anything else, a deafening shout behind him made both him and the snake jump, "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

The constant feeling of déjà vu Harry had been experiencing all day multiplied as Dudley waddled over and punched him in the ribs, effectively knocking him out of his way. _Bloody buggering git, _Harry thought as he landed on the floor with a thud. At that precise moment the glass that the bullying boys had their noses pressed to vanished and the boa constrictor made its escape.

_Oops!_ Harry thought, not at all chagrined. He grinned delightedly when Dudley and Piers shrieked as the snake slithered past them and winked in response to a hissed, _"Thanksss, amigo."_

The ride home was less than agreeable as Vernon kept shooting glares at Harry through the rearview mirror while turning an ugly shade of puce. As soon as Piers left the house, Harry was sent to his cupboard with no meals, as he expected, and Petunia prepared a large brandy for her husband.


	4. The Long Expected Letter

Disclaimer: I will be sure to return that which I have borrowed. Harry will be returned, since he is not mine. Bummer.

A/N: Thank you so much, reviewers! It might take a little longer now for chapters to come out, but I'll do my best! Everyone, please review:-)

Chapter Four: The Long-Expected Letter

Harry had remembered from his previous experience that his punishment for the escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor was a long one, so he was not at all surprised that by the time he was let out of his cupboard the summer holidays had already begun. In fact, he was quite pleased it worked out that way, for he wasn't so sure he remembered how to attend a muggle school after so many years at Hogwarts. He whiled away his time in the cupboard sitting in the dark, conserving the light bulb until it was truly needed, and planning. When Uncle Vernon threw open the cupboard door, pompously declaring Harry's freedom and threatening a return sentence with 'any more _funny business_,' Harry had a fairly good idea how to proceed with the coming year.

He decided he would maintain a façade of innocence and ignorance of the wizarding world, just as had truly been the case last time around. He would not hold back in his classes, unless he was afraid it would give him away. He would do everything in his power to help his friends prepare for the coming war while still letting them be children. And finally, he would try to figure out how, in the name of Merlin, one was supposed to clear one's mind. Having Voldemort in the castle this year, a Master Ligilimens, terrified Harry. The depth of desctruction he could do with the knowledge he could easily pick out of Harry's brain while he sat in Quirrel's Defence Against the Dark Arts class was beyond imagining.

For this reason, Harry tried various methods of clearing his mind. He had a lot of time to practice while locked in the cupboard, but he kept it up afterward every night before he fell asleep. It was a difficult thing to practice, for he felt as if his brain was so jumbled full of thoughts and memories it would be impossible to clear it all away. However, he eventually came up with a method. Whether it was proper occlumency or not, he found if he could just focus on one thing, everything else would clear away much easier. So, he imagined a candle flame and mentally stared into it for hours on end, refusing to let thoughts surface.

He practiced this while interacting with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. As soon as one would go on a rant about his 'good for nothing freakishness' he would picture the candle flame and their voices would dim into something much more tolerable and easy to ignore. Of course, this made his face slacken and his eyes glaze over giving him a rather vacant expression, which caused Petunia and Vernon to exchange pointed looks with one another over his head. They were afraid he was becoming an even freakier freak, if that was at all possible.

The days passed slowly as they tend to do when one is anxiously expecting something, but finally the morning Harry had been waiting for arrived. Aunt Petunia was standing at the stove, dying some of Dudley's old clothes gray for Harry to wear at Stonewall High, when he came in for breakfast. He smirked and decided not to mention that he would, in fact, be going to a much different school and would have no need to wear what would inevitably look like discarded elephant skin. Uncle Vernon sneered at Harry's hair before disappearing behind the newspaper and Dudley eagerly loaded more breakfast food on his plate, leaving less behind for his cousin. Harry had just tucked in to his food when they heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind the paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Poke h-, what?" Uncle Vernon peered around the paper and glared suspiciously at Harry's retreating back as he complacently went to gather the mail.

Harry stifled a chuckle knowing full well Uncle Vernon had been expecting him to argue as he usually did. He bent down and shuffled through the mail, his heart stopping momentarily before engaging in a frantic tap-dance in his chest. His Hogwarts letter had come!

"Hurry up, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted impatiently. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?"

Harry quickly slid his Hogwarts letter under his cupboard door and brought the rest into the kitchen, handing them to Vernon before sitting down to finish eating. Once the dishes were cleared and everyone was occupied – Vernon on the telephone with an ill Marge, Petunia hanging the horrid dyed clothes, and Dudley outside playing with Piers – Harry snuck back into his cupboard and ripped open his letter.

It was just as he remembered, informing him of his acceptance and signed by Minerva McGonagall. _We await your owl by no later than July 31._ This part left Harry stumped as he did not have an owl yet. "Hmmm…" Harry tapped his fingers restlessly against his leg. "Perhaps…" he muttered as he poked his head out of his cupboard. Looking left and right, he assured himself the coast was clear of irritating muggle relatives before scampering out. He slipped out the front door and scanned the sky before spotting a small, tawny owl perched in the neighbor's tree. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. He waved the owl over and tied his response to its leg. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, okay?" he instructed. The owl hooted and bobbed its head before taking flight.

He was still staring absentmindedly at the cloud the owl had disappeared behind when a shout caught his attention. "Oi! What 'ave we here?" Harry groaned as he recognized Piers Polkiss' voice. He turned around to see Piers, seemingly alone, sauntering over to him. Harry flicked his eyes back and forth searching for Dudley before he spotted him, huffing and puffing two blocks away.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"I want to know what your problem is," Piers spat.

Feeling ornery, Harry shrugged and replied, "Oh, you know, the usual. Can't sleep, don't eat enough…"

"I saw that look you gave me the other day," he interrupted with narrowed eyes.

An eleven year old's face trying to look menacing struck his funny bone and Harry snorted. Color began to rise in the other boy's cheeks and he had to duck as Piers swung out at him. By the time Dudley caught up to Piers, Harry was already out of sight, ducking through alleys and backyards as the two bullies began their favorite game of Harry Hunting.

The next day Harry was outside weeding the garden when the same tawny owl from the day before swooped down and landed on his head.

"Gah!" he yelped in surprise and dropped a handful of weeds. The little owl hooted cheerfully, its talons digging in his hair. "I know my hair may look like a nest, but _seriously, _do you _have_ to rub it in?" he whined. With a hoot that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, the owl hopped down onto his shoulder and stuck out its leg. Harry took the letter and smiled at its contents.

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
Since you are unfamiliar with the wizarding world, a representative will be sent to your house to take you to Diagon Alley, where you will find the school supplies necessary for your first year at Hogwarts. Your guide will be more than happy to answer any questions you and your family may have.  
You may expect Rubeus Hagrid at your house on July 31 at 9:30 am. If this date and time are inconvenient for you, please send a reply owl immediately to reschedule.  
Sincerely Yours,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

Excited to see Hagrid again, Harry found the wait until his birthday nearly unbearable. That night at dinner the Dursley's kept looking suspiciously at him as he could not stop smiling. "What are you smiling at?" Vernon grumped.

"Nothing," Harry grinned.

"Stop it!"

"I can't!"

Vernon glared at him, his beady eyes looking at him calculatingly. His walrus-like mustache twitched and his eyes swung to Petunia. "How old was your sister when she went to that ruddy school, Hogwash, or whatever it was called?"

Petunia looked as if she had suddenly swallowed a lemon. "Eleven," she ground out. Dudley's eyes swung curiously back and forth between his parents as he chewed his chicken. Harry just kept grinning.

Petunia pursed her lips. "You got the letter then?"

"Uh huh," he speared a piece of chicken.

"WE WILL NOT PAY FOR YOU TO GO TO SOME CRACKPOT OLD SCHOOL!" Vernon roared.

Harry shrugged, "S'alright."

"What's going on?" Dudley asked curiously.

Vernon's face was a violent shade of purple while Petunia looked pale and strained. They both glared at Harry.

"What's _going ON?!" _yelled Dudley, who was not used to being ignored.

"Nothing important, Diddykums," Petunia replied. "Here, have some more chicken."

The rest of dinner was a tense, silent affair, punctuated by the scraping of silverware. Vernon's face had yet to return to its normal coloring and Aunt Petunia kept shooting nervous looks between Harry and Vernon, unable to finish eating. Harry, on the other hand, appeared outwardly calm and relaxed while he was inwardly laughing for joy. He was going back! He was going to see everyone again!


	5. An Old Friend

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. In fact, I've even stolen a few lines here and there straight from the book. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long for me to update. My Grandfather passed away and I had to go out of town for the funeral. I'm still plugging away at this, though.

Chapter Five: An Old Friend

The tension radiating throughout the Dursley home for the rest of the week set all of its occupants on edge. Not a word was spoken about magic or Hogwarts since the little outburst at dinner, but not for a lack of trying on Dudley's part. It frustrated the pudgy boy to no end that Harry knew something he didn't. Harry actually knew a lot of things that Dudley didn't, but that was beside the point. Between Dudley's incessant badgering, Aunt Petunia's sniffs of disapproval, and Uncle Vernon's reddening when around him, Harry was quite relieved when his birthday arrived.

Though he had stayed awake until midnight, as was his ritual on his birthdays, Harry was up early, cooking breakfast when Petunia came down the stairs. She pursed her lips and sat stiffly at the table while Harry brought her some tea. Watching him like a hawk as he tended to the eggs and bacon, she finally spoke. "Today's your birthday," she stated.

"Yes, it is," Harry replied evenly, turning down the fire.

Petunia sipped her tea. "We will not tolerate your unnaturalness in this house."

Harry turned around and looked her in the eye, "You never have." She opened her mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it when she heard Vernon's footsteps on the staircase. Instead, she shot Harry an indecipherable look before greeting her husband.

When nine thirty finally rolled around, Harry was waiting anxiously in the hallway while the Dursley's were watching television, unaware of the visitor they were about to receive.

BOOM. All three Dursley's jumped, Petunia with a shriek, and Harry leapt toward the door. He flung it open eagerly and grinned up at the half-giant before him. It took all of his self restraint not to throw himself at Hagrid and give him a hug, so instead he simply said, "Hi!"

"Hello Harry!" he boomed cheerfully. "Ain't no mistakin' you! Yeh look exactly like yer father, except for yer eyes. Got them from yer mum, no doubt about it."

"You knew my parents?" Harry asked, pretending awe.

"'Course I knew them! No finer witch an' wizard, Lily and James. Mind if I come in? Yer neighbor's givin' me a funny look." Petunia made a strangled sound while Harry stepped aside and let him in. Head bent to keep from hitting the ceiling, Hagrid was simply enormous in the Dursley home.

Vernon stood as tall as he could. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," Hagrid thrust out his chest proudly. "I'm here to take Harry shopping. But not before I give him this," he proceeded to dig around in one of the many pockets on his immense overcoat before pulling out a slightly battered box.

Harry opened it to find a chocolate cake with the words "Happy Birthday Harry" printed on it in green icing. He started to thank Hagrid, but was interrupted by his uncle yelling, "I WILL NOT PAY FOR HIM TO GO TO SOME PIGSTY SCHOOL TO LEARN MAGIC TRICKS!"

Hagrid surprised Harry by laughing. The pictures of Dudley on the mantle rattled as he chuckled heartily. "Pigsty?" he gasped. "Mind if I have a seat?" Harry directed him to the couch despite Vernon's indignant sputtering. Hagrid reached up and wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. Dudley moved to hide behind Petunia who was standing, gripping the back of a chair.

"He's already livin' in a pigsty. No offense to yer housekeepin' Ma'am," he nodded to Petunia. "But it looks like yer husband and son could stand to go on a diet."

Her nostrils flared and her knuckles whitened in anger, but fear kept Petunia Dursley from responding. Vernon, on the other hand, was too angry to be afraid. "Now see here!" he yelled. "I –"

"Harry, p'rhaps you'd better get yer things so we can leave these muggles in peace," Hagrid interrupted. Harry nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Sure thing, Mr. Hagrid," he said.

"Jest Hagrid, none o' that mister business."

"'Kay Hagrid. Let me just run to my room real quick," Harry said slyly. He went to his cupboard, sat on his cot and began pulling on his trainers.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry poked his head out while tying his shoelaces.

"What're yeh doin' in there?" Hagrid asked.

"Erm…" Harry feigned embarrassment. Actually, he truly did find it embarrassing to be living in a cupboard, but he knew Hagrid would not tease him about it. He rather hoped this would be an opportunity to frighten the Dursley's into giving him an actual room.

"That isn't yer room, is it?" he asked.

"Well…" Harry noticed with satisfaction that Petunia's face was as white as a sheet and Uncle Vernon seemed to be losing some color as well.

Hagrid stood and peered into the cupboard. His beetle black eyes narrowed as he took in the tiny room and raggedy oversized clothes.

Uncle Vernon mumbled something that sounded like, "Invasion of privacy!" but he quelled under the nasty look the half giant sent him.

"I don' believe it," Hagrid growled, "Harry Potter livin' in these conditions!" He stormed up the stairs and began flinging doors open. Harry and the Dursley's winced as they heard one door crack and another fall off its hinges. There was a loud BANG! followed by the clamorous racket of things being broken and moved around. The stairs creaked dangerously as Hagrid angrily descended, tucking a pink umbrella into one of his many pockets.

"'Scuse me, Harry," he said. Moving out of the way, Harry watched as he reached into the cupboard and pulled out all of his few belongings, including the cot, and carried them upstairs. Harry followed curiously and saw Hagrid set his cot in the middle of Dudley's second bedroom, which was now suspiciously empty. A small grin crept on his face as Hagrid turned and said, "From now on, this is yer room, Harry."

As Hagrid squeezed his incredible bulk through the doorway, Harry heard a soft tap and caught a glimpse of pink as the door to his new bedroom righted itself and snapped back into place. He peeked into Dudley's room where he found piles and piles of broken toys thrown haphazardly on his bed and floor. After closing Dudley's cracked bedroom door, he clambered down the stairs and ran out the door to follow a fuming Hagrid.

"Got yer letter?" he asked. When Harry assured him that he did, Hagrid visibly relaxed. "Good. I don' want t' go back in there. No tellin' what I might've done. Horrible muggles, they are."

"What's a muggle?" Harry asked, playing the part of the inquisitive boy, new to magic. As Hagrid launched into explanations of the wizarding world, they made their way to the train station and began their journey to London.

Upon arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was set upon by the inhabitants like a flock of vultures. Doris Crockford making sure to shake his hand at least four times. Harry all the while maintaining a mask of confusion, graciously shook hands and accepted thanks, smiling in amusement when people told him "Welcome back." They had no idea. He briefly considered hopping up on a chair and thanking everyone for the warm welcome to the wizarding world, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. All that would do would garner more attention, something he had never felt comfortable with in the first place. Instead, he edged his way to the back door where he bumped into Professor Quirrel. Hagrid pushed his way through the crowd and introduced the two to each other.

As Quirrel stuttered a hello, Harry looked him in the eye knowingly. "I very much look forward to your class, Professor. Defense Against the Dark Arts sounds exciting."

"It's n-not all fun a-and g-g-games, M-Mister P-P-P-Potter," Quirrel stuttered.

"I'm sure it's not," he replied. "I'll see you at school, sir." Harry gratefully allowed Hagrid to usher him outside where they faced the brick wall disguising the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked Hagrid, ever the picture of innocence.

Scratching his beard he said, "I'm not sure I'm the right person t' tell yeh that, Harry."

Annoyed, Harry replied, "Well I'm sure Doris Crockford would tell me if I asked."

Hagrid winced, "All right, all right, I'll tell yeh, but let's go back inside." Harry nodded and followed Hagrid as they slipped unobtrusively to a back room. Hagrid ordered them each a butterbeer, which Harry sipped gratefully as he listened to the story of his first triumph over Voldemort.

"So basically everyone thinks I'm a hero because I didn't die when I was supposed to?" he asked.

"Not jest because yeh lived, but because no one's seen hide nor hair of You-Know-Who since!" Hagrid finished off his drink. "A lot o' people think he died that night."

"And you?"

"I reckon he's still out there somewhere, waitin' fer the right opportunity t' come back. He's probably too weak t' do much else, 'cept wait."

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "If he does come back, he won't care much for me, will he?"

Hagrid shook his hairy head, "He didn't care much for anyone other than himself. But no, I don' think he'll look kindly on yeh." He smiled reassuringly. "No use worryin' about it. Like I said, no one's heard from 'im since then."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, twisting his empty mug between his hands. He wondered where Voldemort was at the moment. He knew he was in Quirrel's care, but not attached to the man just yet. Otherwise they would have caused quite a scene when they shook hands earlier in the pub.

Hagrid slapped the table, making Harry jump, and changed the subject. "Enough gloomy business," he said. "It's time fer you t' see the good side of the wizardin' world! Are yeh ready t' go to Diagon Alley?" Harry nodded, smiling. "All righ' then, follow me." Hagrid led him back out to the entrance wall and tapped the right combination of bricks with his pink umbrella.

Harry grinned brightly as the bricks rearranged themselves to open the wall to Diagon Alley. It was good to see so many people wandering cheerfully through the alley. Shops that he had seen destroyed were standing tall and proud, bringing in business and everyone looked relatively peaceful and innocent. _This is how it's meant to be, _he thought. Harry was filled with a fierce determination to set things right this time around.

As he followed Hagrid to Gringott's, Harry craned his neck every which way, taking in all of the sights and sounds of the alley. He spotted various people he recognized. Dean Thomas was dragging his mother out of Madame Malkin's, her arms laden with packages. Susan Bones was cooing over the owls displayed outside of Eeylops under the watchful eye of her aunt, the formidable Madame Bones. And just down the road was Cho Chang! Harry shuddered. _Best forget_ that _awkwardness,_ he told himself.

Jostled out of his thoughts by a tall man with a long, thin nose sneering down at him for being in his way, Harry spotted Hagrid and hurried after him, smirking at the dumbfounded double-take of the rude wizard who belatedly noticed his scar.

"Ah! There yeh are!" said Hagrid. "Stick close, best not to wander off in Gringotts," he warned.

Harry nodded in agreement and smiled at the goblin guarding the entrance to the wizard bank. The goblin merely raised his eyebrows as he bowed them through the front doors. Facing a pair of silver doors, they paused to read the warning inscription. "You'd be mad to try an' rob this place," whispered Hagrid, not so quietly.

"Indeed," smirked one of the goblins bowing them through the second set of doors, leading them into the bank. As Harry and Hagrid entered the marble hall, Harry's thoughts strayed to his past, or future, depending on how one looked at it. Gringotts had stood tall and proud amidst the many catastrophes that befell Diagon Alley during the war. The goblins, wishing to have nothing to do with 'petty wizard wars,' simply sealed the entire building and prepared themselves to wait everyone out. They had made it clear to anyone who bothered to ask that they did not care who won the war, just that their business continued afterward. Which, of course, it would. Harry smiled in memory. Sealed doors never meant done deals for goblins. Oh no, they continued to do business with anyone and everyone, just in a more discreet manner. Harry idly wondered if he could still get a Gringotts Express card, even though the building was not sealed. .

_A question for another time,_ he thought as they stepped up to an available teller. "Morning," said Hagrid. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?" the goblin looked as if he didn't think Hagrid would.

"Got it here somewhere," Hagrid mumbled as he began digging through his pockets. Harry stuck his hand out and caught the handful of moldy dog biscuits Hagrid was about to scatter on the goblin's book of numbers, earning a thankful look from the annoyed creature who imperiously flicked at a stray crumb.

"Got it!" Hagrid said triumphantly, holding up the small golden key.

The goblin suspiciously inspected the key. "That seems to be in order." His mouth twitched in amusement as Harry snuck the dog biscuits back in Hagrid's pocket without the large man noticing.

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, puffing his chest importantly. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin raised an eyebrow and read the letter carefully. "Very well," he said silkily, handing the letter back. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

"I don't suppose you can tell me what's in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked as they were led into a stone passageway.

"'Fraid not. Dumbledore's trusted me to keep a secret. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that," Hagrid replied. Harry nodded in understanding before clambering into the small mine cart. As the cart rattled swiftly through the maze of vaults, Harry whooped with joy, loving the speed and the feel of the wind through his hair. They passed over a cavern and Harry saw a column of fire burst out from below them. He leaned over the edge of the cart to see if he could spot the dragon, but was pulled back by the scruff of his neck.

"Don' lean over the edge!" scolded a very green looking Hagrid.

"Are there dragons here?" Harry asked Griphook. When the goblin nodded, he said, "Wow! What kind?"

"Gringotts has many breeds of dragons guarding the vaults," Griphook boasted. "Though the Hungarian Horntail tends to be the most popular guardian."

Harry swallowed, remembering his own encounter with that particular breed. "Sounds nasty," he said.

"It is."

"I've always wanted a dragon," Hagrid said wistfully, before his face contorted in a grimace, "I think I'm gonna be sick!"

Luckily for Hagrid the cart screeched to a halt outside of Harry's vault, ending the ride abruptly. Griphook unlocked the door and Harry coughed as green smoke billowed out. When the smoke cleared, he smiled at the glistening piles of galleons, sickles and knuts. It didn't matter how many times he had come down there, he still smiled at the thought of the Dursely's not being able to take it away from him. It was also nice to see that it was a bit fuller than he remembered. Though, of course, he hadn't taken any out for so many years of schooling yet.

Harry listened politely as Hagrid explained the money system to him while helping him fill a bag. Once their business in the vault was finished, they climbed back in the cart, Hagrid regretfully, and set off to vault seven hundred and thirteen.

"Stand back," ordered Griphook upon arrival. He gently stroked the door with one long finger and it melted away, leaving a nearly empty room for Hagrid to enter. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," Griphook said, looking as if he'd like to see someone try just that.

"Do you ever find people in any of the vaults?" Harry asked curiously.

Griphook shrugged. "Occasionally," he said with a nasty grin. Harry grimaced and turned to watch Hagrid pick up a small grubby package and tuck it deep inside his coat. The Sorcerer's Stone.


	6. Call of the Wand

Disclaimer: Not mine. Recognized text not mine either.

A/N: I know they're few and far between, but here's the next chapter if anyone's still interested in reading it.

Chapter Six: Call of the Wand

It was not long before Harry found himself standing alone outside of Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Hagrid having slipped off to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit of a "pick-me-up." Pushing thoughts of the Sorcerer's Stone out of his mind, there would be plenty of time later to think on it, he contemplated his next move. If he remembered correctly, which he knew he did as this particular moment in his life had made a bit of a lasting impression on him the first time around, one Draco Malfoy would be inside the shop. Beginnings were always tricky, but Harry felt confident that he would have the upper hand. He already knew Malfoy. The difficult part would be playing off a much younger and more naïve Malfoy than the one he had grudgingly formed an alliance with in his past. Future. Whatever.

_Best go inside, Potter, before he finishes and leaves._ Harry sighed and nervously cracked his knuckles. It was time to draw out his Slytherin side. After patting his hair down to hide his scar, he stood up straight, nose slightly raised, and strode confidently into the robe shop. _I look ridiculous,_ he thought, mentally laughing at his eleven-year-old body.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Madame Malkin, dressed in mauve from head to toe, smiled at him. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered, allowing himself to be led to the back of the shop. There he was, the little git, standing on a stool while a second witch was pinning up his robes. Harry smirked. Draco Malfoy was much scrawnier than he remembered. Of course, he was younger and he didn't have those two idiotic morons, Crabbe and Goyle, standing on either side of him. Harry stood on the stool next to Malfoy and began observing the other boy silently.

"Hello," Malfoy said. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," Harry responded coolly.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," he drawled. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

"Fascinating," Harry drawled sarcastically. As if he cared what the Malfoy family shopping plans were.

Draco regarded Harry with a mildly irritated scowl, but said nothing. They stood in silence, careful not to look each other in the eye, as the witches pinned their robes. Finally, Malfoy seemed to have had enough. "What's your name?" he asked bluntly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, "Does it matter?"

"It might!" he sneered.

Smirking, Harry asked, "Well, what's _your_ name, then?"

Proud of his heritage and wishing to show it off, Draco promptly replied, "Malfoy. _Draco _Malfoy."

"Well, _Draco_ Malfoy," Harry emphasized, "why should your name mean anything to me?"

"_Obviously_ you're not a pureblood if you don't know my name."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrow again, loving how it seemed to irritate the other boy, as Draco clenched his jaw in response. "I never said I didn't _know_ your name. I simply asked why it should _mean anything_ to me."

His cheeks flushing pink, Draco began, "My father – "

"I don't give a hoot about your father," Harry interrupted. "I want to know who _Draco_ is. Or is that a personality that has yet to be defined?" Harry looked pointedly at a flustered Draco. "Are you just a shadow of your father, or are you your own person, _Draco Malfoy?_"

"I'm my own person!" he defended.

Harry tilted his head, "I suppose we'll see in time."

"What's _that_ supposed to – I say! Look at that man!" he nodded toward the front window, wide-eyed. Hagrid stood just outside, grinning at Harry and pointing toward two ice cream cones.

Harry smiled brightly. "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Draco said, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

Harry moved his gaze from Hagrid outside the window to look Draco in the eye. "He's the gamekeeper," he said evenly.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage – _lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"Actually, I think he's quite brilliant," Harry said, before shrewdly adding, "He terrorized my nasty Muggle relatives this morning."

Draco looked at him, startled, with wide eyes. "Really?" He sounded genuinely interested.

"That's you done, my dear," Madame Malkin said with perfect timing.

"Thank you, Madame," Harry said politely as he hopped down from the stool. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy."

"See you," Malfoy replied, looking thoughtful.

After finishing their ice cream cones, Harry and Hagrid set to the task of shopping for Harry's school supplies. First, they bought parchment, ink and quills before heading off to Flourish and Blotts, chattering the entire way. Though he had never been much for reading, Harry added a rather thick book to his pile of school books called _Dictionary of Defense_ by Harry Sentinelli.

"Yer gonna need a lot more study before yeh'll be able to work most of those," Hagrid advised, trying to put the book back on the shelf.

Harry held onto it firmly saying, "I'd like to keep it for later, then. I have a feeling I'll need it." When Hagrid started to protest, Harry lightly bantered, "Besides, the author has the same name as me! I'm _meant_ to have it!"

"All righ', yeh just be careful, though," he warned. "A lot of these spells are gonna be way above yer level as a firs' year, an' a botched spell can be pretty nasty."

"I'll be careful," Harry assured Hagrid. "Don't worry!"

The next place on their shopping list was the Apothecary. When they stepped through the door, a little bell chiming to announce their entrance, Harry shuddered. The barrels of slimy ingredients and rows of jars filled with powders, herbs, and various other things made the whole room look far too much like Snape's old office for comfort. Although, he had to admit that dragon claw hanging over his head looked intriguing. He reached up and poked at it, causing it to swing back and forth, while Hagrid took care of getting Harry's basic potion ingredients. _I wonder if I could find _all_ of Snape's old potion texts,_ Harry thought, poking the claw again.

"Young man!" the shopkeeper snapped from behind him, giving Harry a violent start. "That is _not_ a toy! Do you have any idea how powerful and difficult to get a hold of dragon claws are?!"

"Er…"

"What kind of dragon?" Hagrid asked eagerly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the two walked off to pay for the supplies, discussing dragons. He glared up at the claw as if his getting in trouble was it's fault.

Once they stepped outside the Apothecary Hagrid checked Harry's list again and said, "Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

"Oh, you really don't have to – " Harry stammered, embarrassed.

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at – an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yeh an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

It only took a moment after stepping into the dimly lit Eeylops Owl Emporium, before Harry spotted his old friend peering at him through the bars of a large cage in the far end of the shop. Her yellow eyes glittered brightly, and her white feathers gave her a ghost-like quality compared to the darker owls around her. "Hedwig," he breathed. She cocked her head and blinked at him.

"Find one ye like?" Hagrid asked, coming over to him. Harry nodded and pointed out the snowy owl. "She's a right beauty, she is. You wait here while I get the shopkeeper," he said.

Minutes later, Harry and Hagrid left Eeylops with the newly dubbed Hedwig sleeping contentedly in her cage, head under a wing. Somewhat embarrassed by Harry's profusions of thanks, Hagrid quickly steered the boy to Ollivanders to purchase a wand. A tinkling bell heralded their arrival, brazenly cutting through the stiff silence. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up at the prickly feeling of so much magic around him. Barely noticing as Hagrid took Hedwig from him and gingerly sat on a spindly chair, he stepped forward, almost feeling his wand calling to him. Having spent so many years with the holly and phoenix feather as an extension of his arm, Harry was certain he'd find it amidst a thousand wands.

Upon reaching the first set of dusty shelves, he felt the prickling at the back of his neck intensify and whirled around, coming face to face with Mr. Ollivander himself. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the other man spoke first, staring unblinkingly into Harry's eyes, "Go ahead, lad. Follow the pull."

Swallowing nervously, Harry crept forward and between the tall, dusty shelves. He stopped and closed his eyes and somehow _felt_ his wand up ahead and to the right. The magic of the moment broke when Harry realized, much to his annoyance, that the wand was on a shelf high enough to be just out of his reach. He looked back to see Hagrid craning his neck from the chair to look around the shelves at him and Mr. Ollivander drifting toward him, face inscrutable.

"This one?" the shopkeeper asked, pointing to one black, dusty box among many.

"Erm, I think so," Harry said, suddenly feeling not at all sure of himself. Mr. Ollivander reached over his head and pulled the box down, opening it as he did so. With a raised eyebrow he passed the wand to him and waited expectantly.

As soon as the familiar wood touched his fingertips, Harry felt a sense of completion. This was _his_ wand and his right hand. He gave it a wave so he could prove ownership of it to the two men observing the silent reunion between master and wand.

Nothing happened. Harry frowned in consternation and nonverbally cast the first spell that came to mind, _lumos._ The tip of his wand lit up, just as it was supposed to, and he finally looked up. "Isn't the first time you pick up your wand supposed to be, well, more magical?" he hesitantly asked.

"That tends to be the case for many children. Especially muggle-borns," Mr. Ollivander replied. "A wand can be a fickle thing, but for those who have used one before, they have developed a sense of control over them." He paused and scrutinized Harry. "I daresay, Mr. Potter, that you have a great deal of control over that wand, which is almost as curious as your pairing with it."

"Oh?" Harry fidgeted, avoiding eye contact with either of the men as he handed the wand over to the shopkeeper who swept it to the counter, disilluminating and boxing it as he went.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, your pairing with this wand, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, is a curious thing," he said. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, and it just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in this wand, unusual combination that it is, gave another feather. Just _one_ other. I find it curious that you have been destined for _this_ wand when its brother gave you that scar." He pressed a long, wrinkled finger to Harry's scar, looking at him inscrutably again.

Harry, of course, already knew this. But he, nonetheless, found himself captivated by Mr. Ollivander's words. "So, what happens now?" he asked.

"That, Mr. Potter, depends on you and your wand. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things with his wand – terrible, yes, but great. I think we can expect great things from you as well. Seven galleons, please."

Harry handed over seven gold coins and Mr. Ollivander passed the boxed wand to him. Before releasing it from his grip he said, "Yew. Thirteen and a half inches, it was. Had I known what it was going into the world to do…" he released the box and stepped back, shaking his head and muttering to himself as Harry and Hagrid slipped out of the shop, somewhat subdued.

The walk back through Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron, which had emptied considerably between the lunch and dinner rushes, was a quiet one - neither Harry nor Hagrid spoke other than to point out the direction of the train station. Though he already had known most of what had been told to him about Voldemort that day, in fact he reckoned he knew more about the dark wizard than anyone else at this point, Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility fall on his shoulders again. What if he messed up? What if things turned out considerably worse this time?

Harry was startled out of his musings by Hagrid's heavy hand patting his shoulder. Blinking in surprise, he realized they had reached Paddington Station and were waiting for the train to take him back to Surrey.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said. Harry nodded and sat in a plastic chair while Hagrid bought them a couple of hamburgers.

"You alright there, Harry? Yer very quiet," Hagrid asked after they had settled in.

Harry nodded and looked around at the muggles going about their business without a clue of the dynamic world living alongside them. "It's just a lot to take in," he said.

Hagrid nodded in understanding and leaned across the table with a kind smile. "You'll be alright, Harry. Don' you worry about it. If it's Mr. Ollivander's got yeh worried, well, he's always been that way. Likes to put on a bit of a show to the firs' years."

Harry smiled. "I _am_ looking forward to Hogwarts," he said.

The corners of Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he gave Harry a wide grin. "Yeh'll have a _great_ time at Hogwarts – I did – still do 'smatter of fact!" He reached in his overcoat and pulled out an envelope, passing it to Harry as they stood and made their way to the train. "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he explained. "First o' September – King's Cross – it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with Hedwig, she'll know where to find me. See yeh soon, Harry!"

Harry waved to Hagrid as he hauled his packages onto the train, balancing Hedwig's cage. Eyes widened over the tops of newspapers as he sat, placing the cage on the seat next to him. With a lurch the train took off and Harry leaned back feeling exhausted as he sped back to Surrey and the Dursleys.


	7. Platform Nine and ThreeQuarters

Disclaimer: Still not mine. It would make a great Christmas present, though. I'll start pestering JKR.

Chapter Seven: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

The entire month of August was quite possibly the oddest month Harry had ever spent with the Dursleys. He had brought all of his school supplies up to his 'new' and rather empty bedroom, spreading them out on the bare floor so he could see them all. Never once did the Dursleys say anything about it, though Aunt Petunia had sniffed in disapproval and closed his door on more than one occasion. In fact, no one said _anything_ about or alluding to wizards, magic, or Hogwarts. That in itself wasn't so strange, Harry supposed, but their constant jumpiness around him was a bit off-putting.

He had never seen Dudley move so fast in his life to shut his poorly patched bedroom door whenever Harry walked by. Aunt Petunia would flinch violently at the sight of him, and Uncle Vernon seemed torn between wanting to yell at Harry and hide from him. He usually settled for a flushed glare and would glance frequently at the nearest exit.

It wasn't until the second week of their odd behavior that Harry figured out what the problem was, besides his being a wizard, of course. _They didn't know he couldn't do magic over holidays._ His mouth curled up in an evil grin at the thought. It had been a good many years since he'd had that advantage over them. Then another thought struck him – technically he hadn't started at Hogwarts yet. No one had given him a warning against using magic and, if memory served, vague though it was, hadn't Hermione mentioned on their first train ride to the school that she had tried some basic spells before coming? Harry's grin only got bigger.

Before long The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by _Miranda Goshawk_ and A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by _Emeric Switch_ lay open on the battered desk in the smallest bedroom next to a pile of quills, matchsticks, needles, and buttons. It felt good to have his wand in hand again.

Harry eyed the Dictionary of Defense, but forced himself to keep his nose out of it. The Ministry had ways of knowing what spells and charms he performed if that ridiculous hearing with the Wizengamot was anything to go by. And they had known that a Hover Charm had been cast in his house, though the berks couldn't be bothered to check if it had been cast by _him._ Darned Dobby. No, it wouldn't do to raise suspicion about the types of magic being used at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry had to content himself with beginning-of-the-books first year magic. Casting nonverbally made it a bit more of a challenge, especially in Transfiguration. He tried to remember if he'd _ever _been successful at it in that class. Maybe. Once or twice. Harry looked proudly at the shiny black buttons on his desk that were no longer scurrying away from him. He might just get the hang of it. Well, if his needles would stop bursting into flames, that is.

On the last day of August, Harry decided it was high time to ask his uncle for a ride to King's Cross. He made his way downstairs to the living room where the Dursleys were watching a game show on television. "Uncle Vernon?" he said.

At the sound of his voice Petunia flinched, Dudley shrieked and ran from the room, and Vernon grunted with a miniscule eye roll at the other two. The rolled eyes caught Harry off guard, but he shook it off and continued, "Would you give me a ride to King's Cross tomorrow so I can go to school, please?"

Still looking at the TV rather than his nephew, Uncle Vernon replied, "And why should I do that?"

"Erm…" Harry paused. Why was he being so unhelpful this time? Was it because Hagrid had come to the house? _This_ Uncle Vernon had never had to deal with thousands of letters streaming in through the fireplace and following them across England. Surely he wouldn't be so much more difficult? Except…that's right, _last time_ Dudley had a pig tail that needed to be removed in London. Harry had been dropped off on the way to his appointment.

Since Dudley's bum was, well, all Dudley, Harry would have to think of a convincing enough reason to take him to London. By this point in his musings, Vernon had already returned his attention to the game show and Petunia was worrying her skirt through her fingers while pointedly looking _away_ from Harry.

"Well," Harry said, "I suppose I could try to get myself there. I could try apparating. Of course, I'm only eleven and I haven't been taught how to do it properly – I might end up splinching myself and you lot would be stuck with bits of my fingers and toes while the rest of me is – "

"That is positively _vile_, boy!" Vernon exclaimed, finally looking at Harry. Petunia looked horrified at the thought of fingers and toes lying on her living room floor.

"I guess I _could_ owl Hagrid to fetch me."

"That – _that giant?!_ I should ruddy well think not!" Vernon's face was starting to turn purple and his moustache was twitching dangerously.

"_Half_ giant," Harry corrected.

"Fine. I'll give you a lift, but don't you expect us to cater to your every whim from now on."

"Of course not," he said smoothly. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon. You are most generous."

Vernon grunted and Harry turned to head back upstairs. "Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?" he said, airily.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Actually, they're illegal in Britain. I'd go by broom, but first years aren't allowed to have them." Vernon sneered and ignored him. Petunia was still staring straight ahead, lips pursed, with her skirt wadded in her fists. With a shake of his head, Harry trudged up the stairs and past Dudley's room. He paused and poked his head in, "Have fun at Smeltings," he said before pulling his wand from his pocket and tapping Dudley's door. "_Reparo_." The door fixed itself and the piece of wood patching the crack fell with a thud to the floor. Dudley stared at Harry in wide-eyed terror.

…

The next morning Harry woke with a thrill. _Hogwarts!_ This colossal do-over was great! He'd get a whole fresh new start to the wizarding world…and Voldemort…and horcruxes. Harry sighed as the excitement drained away and was replaced with the grim realization that his time with the Dursleys had been the calm before the storm. _Stupid Dark Lords, _he thought bitterly.

By seven o' clock, Harry had loaded his trunk, which was a good deal larger against his eleven-year-old body, and Hedwig into Vernon's car. He waved goodbye to his aunt and cousin who were standing in the doorway, probably to make sure he left, and hopped into the back seat of the car. Uncle Vernon grudgingly took the wheel, turned up the radio, and proceeded to ignore Harry for the duration of the trip to London.

Upon arrival, Uncle Vernon loaded Harry's trunk onto a trolley for him, which he thought was rather kindly out of character, and said, "Go, and if you can stay for the holidays, do so."

Considering his face wasn't red, purple, or any color in between, Harry found his uncle to be frighteningly civil. He looked at him out of the corner of a narrowed eye, "Yes, Uncle Vernon." He began pushing the trolley toward the station when his uncle spoke again.

"Dudley's door will have to be repainted."

Harry nodded in understanding – his uncle appreciated that he had fixed the door. "I can do it next summer," he offered.

Vernon shook his head, "No sense in waiting that long. I'm picking up the paint while I'm in town, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered bringing you."

"Of course." With that, each turned their own way – Vernon heading to the car and Harry to the station. An odd swelling filled Harry's chest as he wheeled his cart into King's Cross Station. Had he and his uncle just…bonded?

He shook his head, mystified by his uncle, and began concentrating on where he was going. In a matter of minutes he reached the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. He started to push his trolley forward, but stopped abruptly. This wasn't right. He had _never_ gone through to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters without Ron. He glanced at a clock – there was still plenty of time before the train would leave. That decided it – he would sit and wait for the Weasleys.

Moments after sitting on a corner of the trolley next to the platform, a vaguely familiar boy showed up. He wore a black and yellow Hufflepuff tie with a Muggle shirt and trousers. He looked to be a couple of years ahead of Harry. The other boy glanced at Hedwig. "Alright, there?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Do you need help finding your train?"

"No, thanks. I'm waiting for someone," Harry smiled. The boy shrugged and slipped through the barrier.

Finally, after three more concerned Hufflepuffs, two Ravenclaws, a future Gryffindor, and even a sixth year Slytherin, Harry heard a familiar voice. "Nine and three-quarters!" Ginny. His heart stopped.

Snippets of memories flew through his head at lightning speed. _A kiss. Stolen moments. Dumbledore's funeral, when he broke up with her. _And then the worst of all – _her fingers curled around his as she rasped, "I love you, Harry," before her last breath was whispered and her eyes glazed over in death. _He had tried frantically to heal the gash in her chest, but it was _Sectumsempra_ and there was no Snape to fix it that time. The curse had been cast by an unknown Death Eater mere seconds after Voldemort's demise.

" – right, dear?" Harry looked up at the worried face of Mrs. Weasley.

"Wha-, sorry?" he glanced back at Ginny. There was no gash in her chest, no blood, she was alive and healthy, bantering with Fred and George.

"I asked if you're alright," Mrs. Weasley said. "You're pale and clammy." So he was. He was sweating and shivering at the same time. The horrible deaths of the Weasleys were replaying in his head and yet they were standing there, perfectly fine, wondering what was wrong with the scrawny black-haired kid.

Mrs. Weasley reached forward and slid her palm under his fringe, feeling his forehead. He looked up at her – she had always been so kind to him. She was the mother he had never known, and here she was, once again mothering him. He smiled weakly. "Well, you don't feel as if you have a fever," she said. As she pulled her hand back his fringe lifted just enough for her to glimpse his scar. Her eyes widened briefly, but she said nothing except, "Do you need help getting to the platform, dear?"

He nodded. "Yes, please."

She straightened and peered at her brood with an assessing eye. "Alright, we have – Fred, George, stop tormenting Ron – we have ten minutes to get through the platform and on the train. Percy, since you're a Prefect, you go first."

"Prefect?" Fred asked, feigning astonishment.

"Percy?" Harry was pretty sure that was George.

"Why didn't you tell us?" they cried in dismay, before promptly dissolving into snickers.

"Oh, shut it," Percy grumbled, sticking his nose in the air as he pushed his trolley past them, vanishing through the barrier in an instant.

"Fred, George, you next," she waved them forward with a worrying glance at the time.

"After you, Gred."

"Thank you, Forge."

Once the twins disappeared through the barrier, Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry. "Now, all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, now. Ron and I will follow with Ginny."

Harry pointed his trolley toward the barrier and turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said.

She smiled at him fondly, "Oh, you're welcome, dear. Think nothing of it. Now, hurry along, before we run out of time!"

After crossing through the barrier, Harry stopped and waited for them to come through. Ron materialized first, nearly losing control of his trolley from running so fast. He came up next to Harry. "Hi," he said. "Sorry about my mum, she worries over everyone."

Harry smiled and shrugged, "'Salright. I've never had a – well, I mean – " he stopped. This was awkward, but it was Ron, so he forged ahead. "What I mean is, I've never really _had_ a mum to, you know, worry over me," he mumbled.

Ron looked as if he couldn't even comprehend the thought of not having a mother. "Wow," he said, "I'm sorry, mate."

"Oh, no!" Harry rushed, "Don't worry about it!" By this point Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had made their way to them.

"Hurry up, boys, you'll need to stow your trunks and find a seat. Wouldn't want to miss your first train ride to Hogwarts now, would you?" Mrs. Weasley said, herding them down the platform toward the rear of the train where the crowds were thinning in the compartments.

As they threaded their way through the throng of wizards, witches and rather stunned Muggle families, Harry took in all the faces that he could. A warm bubble of contentment was ballooning inside of him to the point that he felt he was going to burst. _All of these people were alive!_ And they didn't have the strain of war on their faces, nor were they dashing about or hiding fearfully. There were no tense Aurors patrolling the station and the crowd of children leaving for Hogwarts was certainly bigger than it had been during what would have been Harry's seventh year, had he attended.

A bark of laughter escaped his lips, sounding much like Sirius' laugh. Ron turned to him, questioningly. Harry shrugged with a lopsided grin and gestured to all of the people on the platform. "We're going to learn _magic_," he said, simply.

"Well, yeah, mate. What'd you think we're going to school for? Eckeltricity?" Ron asked. Mrs. Weasley smiled indulgently at Harry while Ginny giggled. Harry just shook his head with a smile as they approached a fairly empty carriage, second from the end. He had only just begun to struggle with his trunk when Fred and George pulled it out of his hands and carried it onboard for him. They swiftly returned and did the same for Ron as Percy walked up.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front. The Prefects have got two compartments to themselves."

"Oh, I'm so proud of you, dear," Mrs. Weasley gushed as she pulled a slightly embarrassed (if his red ears were anything to go by) Percy into a smothering hug. Ron and the twins all glanced at each other and snickered.

"Yes, well," Percy pulled back, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses. He caught sight of Harry standing to the side, holding Hedwig in her cage, and nodded to him. "If you need any help finding your way around the castle – or with anything at all, really – don't hesitate to ask. I, or any of the other Prefects, will be willing to lend you a hand, regardless of what house you're in," he told Harry, puffing out his chest proudly so his Prefect badge was clearly visible.

"Thank you – Percy, is it?" Harry asked.

He nodded. "Percy Weasley, Gryffindor Prefect." Another round of snickers broke out.

Harry held out his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Percy. I'm – " but the words "Harry Potter" were drowned out by the whistling of the train and a great bellow of steam. Percy must have heard him when the others did not, or read his lips, because he was staring at Harry with wide eyes while pumping his hand furiously.

Hedwig hooted in complaint of the steam so Harry gently pulled his hand away and raised his voice over the sudden crescendo of the crowd, "I'd best get my owl on board."

"Yes, of course!" Percy stood up straight again. "Goodbye, Mother," he said to Mrs. Weasley and, with a nod toward Harry and his brothers, strolled off to the Prefect compartments.

Both Mrs. Weasley and Ginny immediately pulled the other boys into hugs and Harry began to slip onto the train as they said their goodbyes. He didn't get far, though, as George grabbed him by the back of his shirt. "And just where do you think you're going?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Onto the train?" he replied, confused.

Fred came up alongside George and shook his head sadly. "Poor bloke," he lamented to his brother. "Nearly got himself a howler on his first day."

"Would've been a pity – we had to wait two whole days for our first one," George nodded, mock seriously.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, while inwardly smiling. He and Ron _had_ managed to get one on their first morning their second year.

"Mum," they said together.

"Can't you tell? You've already been adopted!"

"She'd have gone ballistic if you didn't give her a hug goodbye." And with that, Harry was frog marched to Mrs. Weasley who pulled him into an enormous hug and told him to take care, dear, and to write her if there was anything at all she could do for him.

The whistle sounded again, another cloud of steam rolled across the platform, and the train groaned as the wheels slowly began to start turning. All four boys hopped on board and leaned out the still open door, waving to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, who ran alongside them until the train picked up speed and they pulled completely out of the station.


End file.
